


vicarious predilection

by Daanny



Category: Persona 5
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, M/M, Parallel Universes, no beta i die like Akira on feb 2, ren becomes god and akira becomes a coffee addict
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-06-18
Updated: 2020-06-19
Packaged: 2021-03-04 03:48:33
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 3,981
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24787234
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Daanny/pseuds/Daanny
Summary: Akira wakes up one day and can't help but feel he's lived through all of this already.
Relationships: Akechi Goro/Amamiya Ren, Akechi Goro/Kurusu Akira, Akechi Goro/Persona 5 Protagonist
Comments: 3
Kudos: 35





	1. akira: brother may i have some pain meds

**Author's Note:**

> hi if you feel like you've already read this its prob cus you have i'm sorry, it was taken down due to major edits to the story line
> 
> ren's story contains spoilers for og p5 and p5r, so for any chps from his pov, feel free to skip (akira/ren pov named as such)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> akira sets foot in yongenjaya for the first time in his life and has way too many nightmares

Akira’s lifeless eyes stare out the window, his side melded to the cool metal of the train. The train races past tiny houses tucked away behind rolling hills, winding rivers descending from majestic mountains and soaring skyscrapers cutting into the jade green of nature. He shuts his eyes.

The scent of coffee from a couple seats away reminds him of his missing breakfast. His empty stomach quietly grumbles as he recalls the impatience his mother ushered him out of the house with. Whatever makes her happy, Akira supposes. He sighs, and pushes the image of her expression out of his mind, only for it to be replaced by the sickening sweet stench of rotting flesh. His eyes fly open in shock.

It _has_ to be a dream.

Blood pours relentlessly from the heavens, flooding the cityscape surrounding him. Skeletons of long dead animals wrap around the buildings of Tokyo, rising high up in the sky and blotting out the sun. Crowds of walking people burst into clouds of black smoke that dissolves into nothing. Distressed shouts are drowned out by the footsteps of those rushing to their workplaces and schools with purposeful strides.

Akira watches in horror as the liquid slowly rises to his ankles, then to his knees. He tries to shout for help, only to find that he can’t do so much as part his lips. His feet are rooted to the ground and his arms stay glued to his side. The liquid rises past his chest, to his chin, then rushes into his mouth, nostrils and into his lungs. Akira can’t breathe. Unable to make even the smallest of movements, his consciousness fades.

He wakes up in a tunnel. Red pipes pulse with each thud that pounded at the inside of his skull. A train races past the platform Akira stands on. Disfigured bodies are scatter from the train, blood pooling into a pungent mess. A second train roars past him at breakneck speed and adds dismembered body parts into the mix. Only the third train slows to a stop. The doors slide open slowly and Akira finds a boy his age curled up on the ground, dried blood matting his brown hair and fresh blood seeping from cuts covering every inch of his body. The doors slam shut when the thought of reaching for the boy crosses his mind. He can only watch as the train speeds up, leaving the station.

 _Not again_ , a voice rings out from all around him. Akira takes a step back.

 _Again?_ he wonders. _Who_ _’s here?_

The scenery switches with the speed of water rushing down an unplugged drain. In a blue room surrounded by prison cells, he watches someone an exact copy of himself take the hand of a long nosed man floating midair. Beside them, a young girl in a vividly blue dress shakes her head and turns her back. Akira shakes his head and covers his ears.

His eyes fly open to find himself safely situated in the seat of a decelerating train. His hands reach for his chest as they try to calm the raging beast sealed within, convinced Akira’s just sprinted a marathon.

“Yongen-Jaya,” the monotonous voice reports and repeats it once again. Akira slings his bag over his shoulder and makes his way towards the train doors.

The doors slide smoothly open and he steps out onto the platform he’s seen countless times, except that he hasn’t. Today is the first time he’s been anywhere near Yongen-Jaya, yet he can’t shake off the unsettling feeling of deja vu that haunts each of his steps. He follows the stream of people up a flight of stairs and lets his feet take him through the backstreets of Yongen-Jaya. Akira’s mind wanders away to God-knows-where and he only lifts his head when he realizes that he’s stopped in front of a coffee shop: Leblanc.

He sees himself walking home with a cat sticking its head out of his bag sharing a pleasant conversation. An orange haired girl with her head propped up on the counter and an aging man behind the counter look over at the door of the cafe when he pulls it open. They smile and welcome him back.

Akira shakes his head and his mind clears. He pulls the door open. The same man as he saw in the memory sits on one of the stools with a newspaper in hand. His eyes narrows slightly at the sight of Akira by the door, with none of the tenderness Akira saw in the hallucination. The only two customers in the shop leave not soon after Akira enters the doorway.

“Right, it’s today. I really don’t have the memory for these things,” Sojiro says.

“Thank you for agreeing to take me in for the next year,” Akira says with a quick bow.

“I didn’t expect someone with manners. So you…”

Akira’s mind drifts away once again, only nodding when appropriate. His mind is blank and he can’t seem to retain anything Sojiro’s saying.

“I’ll leave It to you then,” Sojiro says. Akira’s expression must have shifted into alertness because Sojiro scowls. “You haven’t been listening, have you?”

“I have,” Akira answers quietly and unconvincingly.

“Well, it’s not my problem,” Sojiro says and heads down the stairs.

Akira blinks. He must have followed Sojiro up the stairs without realizing. The room he stands in is cluttered with trash bags and piles of junk. Dust floats throughout the musty air. Akira stifles a sneeze and steps carefully through junk to open the windows. He’s not sure if the breeze is going to help remove the dust or do the very opposite. He hopes it’s not the latter.

Amid the trash bags and burlap bags and stacks of books and blue tarp and too much plastic, is his a box he recognizes, packed and sent straight from the home he doesn’t want to remember. He slits open the packing tape with the keys he won’t touch for a whole year and opens up the box.

Akira frowns. He remembers throwing in a couple outfits and only filling the box half way, but now it’s filled to the brim with black and white ties, all of the same design. He pulls out one and lets it hang midair. Akira has never worn a tie in his life. But for some reason, this design looks familiar.

He clutches over as a sharp pain runs through his head. The tie falls from his hand towards the floor. And just like that, the pain is gone, replaced only by a dull pressure across his chest. Akira takes a step back from the situation and thinks.

Something smells fishy and he doesn’t want to be part of any of it, not right after he just got himself in trouble. He packs away the tie that fell to the floor and tapes the box shut again. As they say, out of sight, out of mind. When Akira stands up again, the pressure across his chest feels like it’s been lifted, if only by a little. He takes another look around the attic.

The open window hasn’t done much for the junk on the floor, but the air is at least a little more breathable. Cleaning has never been his strong suit, but he’s sure he can at least get the room to look livable. Maybe. Probably. Hopefully. Hours later, the room is not cleared, but at least Akira could almost walk to each corner without tripping over garbage on the floor that seemed to have it out to kill him. He makes a mental note find out when the next trash collection day is.

Sojiro’s compliments to his clean job are very much unnecessary. Akira pushes down the desire to call him out for leaving a bunch of trash around, but figures it wouldn’t have done much for the whole “please let me stay here for a year” case.

“Is it alright if I go to the bathhouse tonight?” Akira asks.

The disapproval in Sojiro’s expression is evident, and Akira’s just about to settle for a night covered in dust when Sojiro begrudgingly says, “Thirty minutes. Any time after and I’m locking you out for the night.”

Akira sprints.

* * *

“You made it back,” Sojiro says from behind the counter with a tone indicating the possible thoughts of wanting to lock Akira out for the night.

Akira is quite sure he did consider it and probably was going to do so, but he didn’t, and that’s the most important thing. He tilts his head in response.

Sojiro holds out a small notebook and Akira takes it with both hands, “Here, it’s a diary. Make sure you write in it.”

Akira nods.

“You’re on probation, but there’s no real restriction on what you do. However, I’m obligated to report on you, so I’m having you record your activities.”

Akira nods again.

“I’ll lock up shop for tonight, don’t even think about wandering out. If something goes missing in my shop, I’m handing you over to the cops.”

Akira twists a lock of his hair between his thumb and forefinger. It’s only fair that Sojiro would show hostility, but it feels strange coming from Sojiro. Perhaps first impressions mattered more than he thought, but what can he do if that first impression is simply a figment of his own imagination? He bites his bottom lip and nods.

“We’ll be going to Shujin tomorrow. I can drive you, but only tomorrow. After that, you’ll have to take the subway. You better go to bed right away, I’m not responsible if you get sick from staying up late.”

Akira nods for the umpteenth time before heading up the attic. He opens up the diary and pulls out a pen from his school bag. On a closer look at the diary, his eyes narrow. The book is just about filled with scribbles easily recognizable as his own. He flips through it quickly to the end, and then opens it back up to the beginning again.

The writing is no longer there; the diary is completely blank. Akira presses a thumb to his temple and scrawls down a few lines on the first page. Throwing the diary down on the table beside his school bag, he turns the other way and collapses on his bed.

He shuts his eyes and hopes for a dreamless sleep, but if he were to have every wish granted, life would be much too easy.

* * *

A boy. His face half covered with a black and red mask. Brown locks matted with blood barely visible in the small window where the mask broke off, shattered into a million pieces. Blood dripping from his head, brows screwed together in pain and anger, blood dripping down his fingertips, eyes looking into his own one last time, transmitting a message he will never decipher. Blood clings to Akira’s skin and face and blots out his sight. Blood entering his ear canals and he hears subdued sounds of metal shutters.

Akira’s falling, falling and—

He groans, pushing himself off the ground. Brushing off dust from the side that hit the floor, he pulls himself back into bed.

So much for a dreamless sleep.

With the covers over his face, he blindly paws for his phone. After multiple attempts of trial and error, he finally manages pulls his phone under his covers and turns on the screen. His eyelids immediately snap shut at the unwelcome light, before he slowly coaxes them open again. It is almost seven. Soijro’s voice in the back of his mind reminds him of the planned visit to Shujin today, burning all hopes and wishes for going straight back to bed away in a bonfire.

Akira groans.

He needs his beauty sleep, Sojiro doesn’t… probably.

* * *

The next time he wakes up, it’s a rude occasion where Sojiro roughly pulls the covers off his body and tells him to get up with a voice laced with pure annoyance. Akira thinks he had an important dream, though he can’t recall even the slightest amount of it.

* * *

Shujin was dull. The principal was a heck of a man that took up ninety percent of the space behind his elaborately adorned desk. His homeroom teacher introduced herself with a mixed expression of boredom and concern for her future. On the trip back, Akira remembers Sojiro’s voice drawling on and on, spelling out words of advise that he can’t seem to recall a word of nor, to be perfectly honest, care about.

They step back into the warmth of Leblanc. Sojiro flicks the light on and says something that vaguely sounds like a question, spurring Akira’s brain back into action. At look of confusion on his face, Sojiro sighs and repeats, “It’s still early, but I won’t be opening up shop. You’re not going anywhere tonight, right?”

“I’d like to go to the bathhouse again, if that’s okay”

“I thought you’d say that. Here,” Sojiro throws something that Akira barely manages to catch. The metal rests cold in his palm. “I don’t know why, but I think I can trust you. Don’t make me regret this.”

Akira nods, opens his mouth and shuts it again.

“Got something to say?”

“Why…” his voice trails off. “Thank you.”

Sojiro nods approvingly, “Don’t sleep too late.” The bell on the door jingles as Sojiro leaves for his own home.

The fragrant smell of coffee mixed with the piquant taste of curry washes over him, calming the fatigue burning at his skin that he didn’t even know was there. He’s only been here a day but there’s undoubtedly a sense of belonging, so much more than that dining table with the parents that pretended to care about his day, pretended to care for each other and pretended to care about their make-believe home. He props up his elbows up on the counter and presses the heels of his hands into the sockets of his eyes.

He should wash up and get some sleep. While he’d love to sit and wallow in his sorrow for a couple hours longer, he has school tomorrow, and he should at least try to live up to Sojiro’s expectations… which really shouldn’t be too difficult because Akira’s sure that Sojiro doesn’t have any expectations of him, but he’d at least like to not make that expectation fall below zero.

* * *

His dreams are filled with prisons and rehabilitation and chains and it’s his fault. It’s always his fault and it’s always been his fault and why did he ever think otherwise and of course he’s such a failure. His parents abandoned him because he’s like this and— if Akira was the one to make the decision, he’d abandon a son like him too.

Akira is sorry.

But he’s scared that even if he says he’s sorry, there is no longer anyone by his side to forgive him.

* * *

Akira wakes up weary. His eyelids feel like they’re glued together and he’s sure that if he looks, there’d be an iron ball chained to each of his limbs. The enticing warmth of his bed has Akira drifting off into unconsciousness before a flash of blue burns away any lingering desire of sleep.

He dresses slowly and packs his bag slowly. He covers up a yawn slowly and makes his way downstairs even slower, tripping on the third step to the first floor and crashing into the wall. The lights in the bathroom are harsh against his barely-open eyes and the toilet brings back unwanted memories of his dream. He dunks his face in cold water. It only serves to give him an un-refreshing brain freeze.

Sojiro’s curry is delicious, though, and Akira almost feels like the morning isn’t all that bad.

Only almost.

“Thank you for the food. It was delicious.”

“Yeah. Hurry to school. You don’t want to be late on the first day.”

“Mm…” Pulling out his phone, he inputs the destination into his maps and considers his route.

_Bring an umbrella._

“Did you say something?” Akira asks, looking up at Sojiro.

“No. But if you don’t hurry, you’re going to be late.”

His grip tightens around his phone, “Is there an umbrella I can borrow? I didn’t think to pack one.”

Sojiro shakes his head in disapproval, “Oi, oi, you’re here for a year and you didn’t even pack that? I guess it can’t be helped. There’s one by the cafe door, you can keep it.”

“Then I’ll gladly take it. Thank you very much.”

“Just hurry and go.”

The umbrella is wrapped tightly, sitting in a bin beside the cafe entrance. He grabs it in one hand and opens the door with the other. Thoughtlessly, he lets his feet take him back to the Yongen-Jaya station.

Akira boards the train and holds his bag close to his body, trying to take up at little space as possible around all the other riders. His mind drifts from the nightmares to the man beside him in deep need of a bath to the coffee he wishes he’d asked for more of to the news playing on the screen over his head.

Shibuya station is more crammed than the train itself, if that was even possible. At the sight of uniforms resembling his own, however, his mind zones out comfortably as he falls into step behind them. Hopefully, he won’t be late. There’s probably no getting around a horrible first impression, but hey, he can at least try.

* * *

His homeroom teacher looks at him the way one might look at a cockroach discovered crawling through their pleasant shower. Though it’s not unexpected, it’s still quite unpleasant. When Akira’s asked to introduce himself, he thinks his words were carefully chosen and his voice manipulated to sound friendly and enthusiastic, yet the reaction from the class isn’t quite what he expected. Whispers break out almost on cue about his criminal status and he can’t help but wonder how the news got around.

 _It won_ _’t hurt me_ , Akira convinces himself. He knows none of the people that faced him, whispering behind their hands. And he won’t know them. Nothing will be worse than having his closest, most trusted friends turn their backs on him only weeks ago. He blinks and heads off to his desk, where he sits down and immediately turn to stare out the window.

Class passes by relatively dull. Even with his neighbour’s childish refusal of sharing textbooks, Akira keeps up with the material with ease. It’s almost funny when one of the teacher calls on him with a condescending snicker only for Akira’s near-instant answer to replace the scorn on his face with shock. Ignoring the useless preaching at the front of the room with relative ease, Akira drifts in and out of consciousness, exhaustion knocking him towards sleep yet loud cracks of gunshots and flares of blue firmly block the entry to the realm of rest.

A bell signifies the end of the day and Akira covers a yawn behind a hand. He pulls out his phone and his thumb hovers over the red eye glaring into the depth of his mind. He frowns.

He doesn’t remember downloading the app, nor does he know its purpose, yet the icon seems familiar. He presses down and a robotic female voice immediately pipes up on speaker. Eyes from all around the classroom turn and stare as Akira fumbles with his volume and all but sprints out of the room in embarrassment.

 _I need earphones_ , he thinks, and then wonders if the app would bypass his earphones and blast his classmates with the speaker on full volume again. He sighs and shoves his phone away in his school bag. For now, he needs to get back to Leblanc before Sojiro wonders where he’s died off to and reconsiders Akira’s keys privileges. Adjusting his bag, he sets off and hopes he won’t get lost in the midst of his train transfer.


	2. Ren: a Realization

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hello, this chp is from ren's pov and the future chps under his pov will contain p5/p5r spoilers so if you dont want to know that feel free to skip
> 
> akira's pov will tell a standalone story so no need to worry about missing out
> 
> rens chps will also be shorter because i have no reason they just will be

Perhaps his friends didn’t understand what it meant to give up on their lives.

Shiho once came to the conclusion she had no choice but to end her life. She said it was as if someone was forcing her to do it, as if there was nothing else to do but to jump off the roof that day. Shiho had said those words with a reminiscing gaze while behind her, Ann stood shaking. Ren would never forget the expression on Ann’s face that day. Her head tilted cast a shadow over her expression that had been a mixture of sadness for Shiho, anger at Kamoshida and pride that Shiho managed to overcome it all. 

But there was no understanding.

When the Phantom Thieves had been so quick to formulate on a plan that could have sent Ren to his death, Ren had smiled and agreed. Haru and Makoto seemed relieved that he so easily accepted it. Morgana and Futaba were convinced that the plan was nearly fail-proof, as long as Ren did his job properly. Yusuke had patted Ren on the back and wished him luck while Ryuji cheered in glee that they would finally one-up Akechi Goro.

 _We have no choice but to do this_ , they said. _We don_ _’t know what Akechi can do. You’re our only bet against him. We’ll support you to the best of our abilities, but you’ll have to be the one to pull this off, Joker._

 _I get it. Don_ _’t worry,_ Ren said to the people that no longer felt like his friends.

How could they be so quick to send Ren into a plan that could lead to his death with even a single mishap? How could they not even consider other options, make any adjustments to the plan that could guarantee his safety, if even a little more? Perhaps Ren’s life didn’t matter to the rest of the Phantom Thieves. Or perhaps they simply didn’t understand that Ren was walking into this plan with the possibility of death. Or maybe they’re just convinced their plan cannot, _will_ not fail.

When the Phantom Thieves were convinced everything was going great, they fell into Akechi Goro’s trap. It’s almost amusing that they haven’t learnt anything from that. It's been proven time and again that you will always fail when you are convince you will not fail.

Still, if this is what they expect of them, then he’ll carry it out. If this is what it takes to be their leader, to be their friend, Ren will carry it out without fail.

“Ren? Hey? Anybody home?” Morgana says, pressing a paw against his face. Ren blinks. “Oh, you finally blinked.”

“Morgana… you’re heavy,” Ren says, then swings his legs off his mattress and stands up. Morgana falls off his chest and lands on the bed indignantly. “I’m going to drop by the jazz club. You usually go on a walk anyway, right? Go find Futaba if you get lonely.”

“I won’t get lonely! You’re the one that gets lonely if I’m not around!”

“You know it,” Ren reaches out to pet Morgana, but Morgana dodges with the swiftness of a Persona with 99 Agility. “I’ll see you later.”

“Be careful,” Morgana meows. “Our plan takes place tomorrow; we can’t let anything happen to you.”

“I’ll be fine,” he slings his bag over his shoulder. “Bye.”

“Bye.”

The doorbell jingles as he locks up Leblanc for the night. It sounds exactly the same as when he first arrived in Tokyo with no idea of what would happen to him. Perhaps he’s made some kind of a mistake along the way. Perhaps when he wakes up the next morning, he’d be back with the parents that never wanted to raise a child and—

No, he shakes his head. The past is already set in stone. What he needs to do is to face the future, no matter what it may bring.


End file.
